Each second, every day and hours and hours I feel more despair and sadness, hopelessness and failure, living here in Seattle, WA. Two or three jobs and I can share a house with a group of strangers, hide in a bedroom and pray as if the world could end at any time. Go outside once and a while, eat when I had time and live in a place where social conditions are similar to money and cash-dollars are a dream to survive.
Today, tomorrow, the next day and each year going forward I think about less and less and more and more about death and dying, to end the suffering.
I no longer observe a world and stare at it’s awesomeness. I can’t sleep because a neighbor hits the wall between apartments in the middle of the night, I can’t use the heat, because the woman hits the wall when I turn on the power. I have no freedom, except to get a low monthly check, buy groceries and let my body slowly whither and turn frail from age.